A man walks into a bar. The bar is dingy and smells
of stale beer and piss. The man, immaculate, stands out from the rest of the clientele.
He is wearing a dark coloured suit, not quite black, but impossible to tell in
the lighting. He heads directly to the bar, his bright white eyes fixated upon
the bartender, who was now nervously wiping down a section of the bar.
The man sits on a stool, “A beer,” is all that he
says, his eyes now nowhere close to the bartender. Instead his eyes are scanning the shelves
behind the bar, as if he is looking for something, and, when he doesn’t find
it, he sighs and looks down at his crossed arms resting on the bar. The sounds
of the bar, which had trailed off when the man entered, slowly returned as
people grew bored of watching the man.
“Your beer,” the bartender grunts as he places a
bottle and a slightly dirty glass down in front of the man’s crossed arms.
The man grunts in thanks, and, after looking at the
glass, takes a drink directly from the bottle. The beer is lukewarm and cheap,
and the man suppresses a grimace as it travels down his throat.
The bartender is still in front of the man as he puts
the drink down, “We don’t get many of your type around here. In fact,” the
bartender sneers, “we actively discourage it. We don’t like people like you being around us.”
The bartender is reaching for something under the bar
when the man speaks. His voice freezes the bartender’s movements, “That so? Let
me tell you a story about another man that once spoke to me in this manner.”
The man’s voice grew louder so that the entire room could hear. “I was in
another town once, at another bar, much like this one, drinking another beer
that tasted of piss, again, much like this one, when another bartender spoke
some similar words to me. I ignored them. I passed them off as mindless hate. Later
that night, as I walked back to my hotel, I was jumped by several of the
patrons and the bartender.” Several of those listening shoot looks of awkward
worry at each other and the bartender begins to sweat. “They beat me bloody,
and left me on the sidewalk once they were done. I was able to pull my phone
out and call an ambulance,” at this point he pulls out his phone and places it
on the bar beside his beer. He takes a swig before continuing. “I spent two
weeks in the hospital, and another couple months in physio. Those men tried to
break me because I wear a suit for work, but it didn’t work. After my physio was
done, I began to train. And then, two years later, I returned to that bar. The
bartender didn’t recognize me, nor did the patrons in the bar, but they were
all there. All the men who tried to break my spirit. Again, the bartender said
to me words much like yours. This time I smiled at his words and ordered a rye
and coke. That detail isn’t important to the story, but I will take one now,”
he says, looking the bartender in the eye. The bartender jumps slightly, and
makes the drink. The bar is silent as they wait for the man to continue. The
drink is placed in front of the man by the trembling hands of the bartender. He
downs it in a single gulp. “I stayed at the bar until it closing time, and all
that remained were the people who brought me harm. I think they were nervous at
this point, there was a lot of grumbling and cursing and muttering. But, by
god, they had a duty to teach me the same lesson they tried teaching me years
before. I stood up, as if to leave, and one of the drunks got a little too
excited, so I smiled at him. I said, ‘I remember you. You were the one who
broke my nose,’ the entire bar grew silent after I said that. An uncomfortable
silence, much like this one. The man still didn’t recognize me, and I realized
that they never would because they didn’t see me as worth remembering. I
remember smiling sadly, and telling them to just get it over with. I’ll take
another rye and coke, if you would,” the man pauses his story as he waits for
the drink. The listeners are fidgeting and growing more and more uncomfortable.
The drink is placed in front of the man, who smiles and takes a small sip. “They
rushed me. All of them at once. Scared, and drunk, and angry, they came at me
swinging. Letting their emotion control their actions was their first mistake.”
The man pulls a bundle of cloth out of the inner pocket of his jacket, and
places it on the bar. He unrolls it to display six strips of material that
appear stiff and dark in the light of the bar. “The fight didn’t last long. I
took them all down, and then took a strip of cloth from each of their shirts
that had been stained by their blood. These strips,” he gestures to the pieces
in front of him. Some of the listeners have begun to step away from the man. He
takes another sip before continuing, “This is much better than the beer, by the
way. My compliments. Now, whenever I tell this story, there’s usually one poor
bastard who decides to test it. And I let them. Keeps me focused and trained.”
The man rolls up his bundle of cloth, and puts it back in the inner pocket of
his jacket. “My hotel is five blocks away, and, incidentally, I will be leaving
in five minutes should any of you wish to leave before me for whatever reason.”
With the story obviously finished, the listeners
drift back to their seats. None head to the door or even look at it. The man
finishes his drink in silence, and, five minutes after finishing his story, he
gets up and leaves.
No one follows.
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